


We Are Children of Dust and Ashes

by frazier



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, M/M, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), basically i just saw iw and all i can say is fuck thanos and i wanna give steve rogers a hug, it's literally just angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 02:19:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14510388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frazier/pseuds/frazier
Summary: He feels like goddamn Tantalus, everything he’s ever wanted slipping from his fingers over and over again, tormented by the gods or titans or the universe itself for all eternity.





	We Are Children of Dust and Ashes

Steve Rogers appreciates irony. Of course he does. At this point, it’s more of a coping mechanism than anything. Going from wheezing, failing lungs, shaking hands, and a bone-deep cold that never quite went away, to the 6’4 super soldier he is now, really made him appreciate the power of taking things lightly. It’s much easier, he’s learned, to laugh about things rather than cry about them. 

And so. Steve will go to his grave before admitting this, god help him, but there is a moment - a fraction of a second between Bucky fading, slipping away, again, and the numbing, breath-stealing panic crushing Steve like a block of ice – where all Steve can think, in a humorless, tired sort of way, is, “Good one, universe.” 

It feels eerily quiet, the noises echoing around him sounding muted and flat. He stares blankly at the pile of dust, ashes, that sits where moments ago Bucky stood. And not for the first time in his long, long life, Steve Rogers loses the one goddamn thing he wanted to keep.

He can’t breathe, he can’t move, he can’t think, he’s drowning in the ice again but this time there’s no promise of relief and peace, no reassuring thoughts of sacrifice and duty, just pain and fear and cold and - 

“Sam?” Rhodey’s voice calls from a thousand miles away, snapping Steve out of his reverie. He looks around wildly, squinting against the bright sunlight filtering through the Wakandan trees. Hears the screams sounding across the bloody field for the first time. Nat’s soft sobs from somewhere to his left. 

Later, much later, when he’s standing under the spray in the shower, rinsing the sweat and gore and ash from his skin, he decides that the quiet was the worst part. There was no blood, no pain, no final glory. Steve Rogers kneeled frozen on the ground and watched his friends die quietly, one by one. 

This wasn’t supposed to happen. They were never supposed to lose. He tilts his head back, staring up at the blue sky, thinking about the countless lives all around the universe quietly slipping away. Steve Rogers believes in things like right and wrong, in friendship, in justice, in good overcoming evil. An optimist, Bucky called him. This wasn’t supposed to happen. 

They were never supposed to lose. He was never supposed to lose him, not again. Not after finding him and losing him and finding him again so soon.

He closes his eyes. Countless images fill his head, of Bucky, looking so good in his uniform Steve could barely stand looking at him, heading off to war. Of bloody shackles and syringes and a dimly lit room with a German map on the wall. Of gleaming white mountains and cutting cold and grasping fingers slipping through his own, of a fading scream. Of punches and pain numbed by sweet, overwhelming relief because he’s still alive, and Steve thinks that maybe, maybe it was all worth it. 

He feels like goddamn Tantalus, everything he’s ever wanted slipping from his fingers over and over again, tormented by the gods or titans or the universe itself for all eternity. 

“Patterns, Stevie,” Bucky had said, tapping his fingers knowingly on the arithmetic problems Ms. Johnson had assigned them, so many years ago. “It’s all about the patterns.” 

There were always a few things about Captain America that Steve never really bought. He could do without the tights, the speeches, the practiced patriotism. But the unflagging, incessant hope. The idea there’s always a chance, always a shot. Steve believed in that. It nags at him, planting itself in his heart far too easily and far too often. 

He also believed, probably for the same reason, that Bucky Barnes was his soulmate, that there was a reason that they kept finding each other, over and over, the one constant throughout his many, many different lives. 

He searches for it, sitting there in the bright light of day as death itself spreads through the air. That hope he’s always felt. And as it turns out, even Captain America himself can lose hope. How ironic. 

“Oh God,” he whispers, quiet and small.

**Author's Note:**

> hiiii that was sad :( but also happy because that was my first ever fic and if you're reading this it means you actually read til the end, which is crazy!!! thanks so much, hope you enjoyed the pain!
> 
> p.s. it's all gonna be okay avengers 4 is gonna be like the fix it fic for infinity war, we're good.
> 
> title from "Dust and Ashes" from The Great Comet


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